


the goodbye and the I'm sorry

by asiren (meliorismo)



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Gen, Mother-Son Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-09
Updated: 2018-06-09
Packaged: 2019-05-19 23:21:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14883164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meliorismo/pseuds/asiren
Summary: Honerva is pretty sure that she had a baby, once. She just can't seem to remember when or why.





	the goodbye and the I'm sorry

**Author's Note:**

> feels.

“Hush”, she muttered to her son, who was crying like the world would end tomorrow. She was worried that Zarkon’d come and yell at their baby, which would only make matters worse because _of course_ Lotor would keep screaming. He wasn’t even four months old.  

Zarkon didn’t care.

“Hush, hush”, she went on, soothing, “hush, my baby, because mom’s here, and she always will be.”

Lotor looked at her with his greenish eyes, shiny with tears and red for the three hours that he spent working himself up to a panic attack, as if saying _how can you lie with this straight face?_ But he couldn’t say that, obviously. She knew that. He wasn’t even four months old.

Still, Honerva felt like her child was judging her — finding her lacking of some natural quality of motherhood that she wouldn’t ever get. Still, she was capable of love. It was just a little harder, for her. Because, well. She was dying. She was going to leave her baby alone with his father, to be ruined by him. And she didn’t want that. Of course she didn’t. But what could she possibly do? Every second of every minute of every hour, this invisible clock was ticking for her. She could almost hear the noise — quiet, quiet, quiet. And then, like a shot; louder than life. One day she would wake up and would find herself to be another person entirely.

Would she remember her son, then?

(She was terrified of the answer).

Lotor cried, and cried, and cried. And then, suddenly, Honerva cried with him.

(They were all going to die alone in that empty, lonely ship.

The end, a piano concert. Finished with an abrupt note — almost like a goodbye).

* * *

 

She picked up her son, who was the birthday boy (three years old), and went with him to the bedroom to choose the clothing that he was going to use at the party later that day. It would be a boring affair, not at all what a child would want or even like. Still, Honerva prayed that he could be just a little happier away from their mausoleum. She almost didn’t remember what life was before Zarkon and she started going crazy. Were they close? Were they good to each other, like the books in her library?

 _What if,_ a traitor voice murmured at her, _Lotor was born then? Would you have stopped, would you think twice before going after this very thing that ruined your life? Would that baby, barely a person, be more important than your life’s cursed work?_

 _Because now,_ it went on, _you’re just a shadow. And a ghost like you can’t raise a child._

“He’s my son”, Honerva answered it, softly, “and maybe I’m not a good mother, but I’m trying. He’s mine, and I’m trying so hard. I swear for his life.”

“Mommy?” Lotor asked her, blinking a little as if shaking off a dream. He was so proper. So beautiful, so nice — a prince. Three years old was too young. She told Zarkon that — we can’t force upon him a burden that is too heavy for his little shoulders. He doesn’t know any better. You’re going to ruin his life.

Zarkon didn’t listen to reason. How could he? He was madder than her; at least she was trying to hold on, afraid of falling into the dark well of oblivion, her fingers red and her nails bleeding. One day she was going to fall down there, too — but not that day. Not on Lotor’s birthday.

“Yes, sweetie?” she asked, curling a finger around his white hair. It was silky, somehow, while Honerva’s was tired and fragile, like everything else about her. Lotor was young, only three years old. He would be resilient; she was sure of that. He would be the emperor that they needed, if his parents — Zarkon, but also her — didn’t kill him before that.

She was dying. One day Lotor would be going to sleep as someone’s son, and then the next morning he would wake up an orphan. And no one, ever, would be able to tell him why.

Will he remember her?

“Mommy, you’re acting weird.” he told her, resting his head on her collarbones. She was getting thinner. “Don’t cry, mommy.” he told her when he felt the tears on his cheek. “Everything is going to be okay. Please, mommy. Please don’t cry.”

“I’m not crying, love”, she answered him, her voice so low it almost got carried with the artificial wind of their room. “Mom is tired. It’s been a long day.” Of an even longer life.

“Are you always going to be unhappy?” Lotor asked her, very sad.

“Of course not. I’m happy right now, because it’s your birthday. The most important holiday of the year.”

“You’re lying, mommy.” he said, small. “You always lie.”

“I know, sunshine, I know. But not today, okay? Mommy is happy. I really am.”

“I wished you weren’t so far away,” he told her, and closed his eyes. “I love you, mommy.”

“I love you too, angel. I always will.” Honerva answered, but it didn’t matter. Lotor was pretending to be asleep, because he didn’t know how little time they still had.

Honerva liked it that way.

* * *

 

 _It won’t take long, now,_ she thought to herself, watching her son sleep. He was seven years old, and a little small for his age, but not a lot. He liked to follow her around the ship, his hands closed around a piece of her dress, as if afraid that she was going to disappear if he didn’t keep looking long enough. Lotor was a smart kid. He knew that she was dying.

It won’t take long for her to fade away.

She sat on the floor and held his hand with hers. He didn’t wake up — he was a heavy sleeper. Sometimes it took four maids to drag him out of bed. Honerva was the one who used to do that, but then she couldn’t anymore. She was too sick, and her mind kept leaving her. She was afraid of what she could do to him if they were all alone in those small hours between asleep and awake.

She couldn’t trust herself. Not with something this important.

But nothing would matter when she leave. Left to die; the person who would habit her body would be a stranger, crazy and paranoid, not at all like her. This new woman wouldn’t have a son; Lotor would be informed of her death, and would never be able to say that this shell had once been his mother and not a mad priestess all alone in the dark.

Would he ever forgive her?

 _It wasn’t my fault,_ she thought to herself, _as it surely was Zarkon’s. And soon wouldn’t be anyone’s, because they would both be so different of who they were that they couldn’t be held accountable for what they once did._

“I’m sorry”, she told him, sobbing. “I’m so, so sorry. I wish you had a better mom.”

She kissed his forehead, feeling so close and yet so far, and left the room. Tomorrow she would be a dead woman. Her son, though, would keep on being Prince Lotor, heir of the Empire, orphan of mother and lost on her mind.

 _It's like it had to be,_ she said to the empty hall. _I really tried._ And, she added, softer after a while, _he will be better off without me._

 _He will be_ free _._


End file.
